


Sentiments

by opaliaus



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-09
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2019-01-31 07:50:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12677568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/opaliaus/pseuds/opaliaus
Summary: Alistair and the Warden-Commander receive a visitor at Vigil's Keep.





	Sentiments

**Author's Note:**

> written for day four of #alistair week // family
> 
> *i haven't read the calling, just summaries and things (so sorry if fiona is ooc)

Sina was a concentrated warmth against his chest, her body drawn into an uncomfortable-looking ball some time during sleep, nestled against him beneath the covers. Alistair studied her tiredly as he always did, following the lines of her arms and her legs before brushing her hair back from her neck to kiss her briefly. He sighed against her face and smiled when she stirred, his nose brushing against the remainder of her ear, a part lost to an attack meant for Zevran. He recalled the brief moment of panic when he feared his best friend had fallen, bleeding terribly from her head and unresponsive for days. He could feel the scar on her scalp whenever he ran his fingers through her hair, but he had all intentions of letting her sleep, as tempting as it was to play with her curls. They’d kept each other awake far too long the night prior, talking and laughing and ultimately reinforcing a decision Alistair hoped he hadn’t dreamt during his slumber. Maker willing, one day soon they’d never again dread having to find one another with new injuries and faded scars. Not like that day.

If he were to muse upon it, Alistair supposed that would have been the time to realize he was in love with her. It had taken some time for their good natured teasing to turn into romance, even though it hadn’t taken long for Alistair to revere her. There was something incredible about her consistent defiance. Somehow she’d survived the life of a city elf while refusing to kneel. She’d come to join the Wardens with a surplus of scars. Meanwhile, he’d been goofy, eager to smile despite his own terror. She once told him that the humans outside the alienage never smiled at her. She’d thought he was stupid or thick in the head at first. Then she’d realized he was young, too. Young and sunny, somehow. It’d dazzled him for days to hear her associate him with the sun, the woman who could do anything.

“Bad dog.”

“What?” 

Alistair watched with amusement as Sina shifted, rolling over to face him and bury her face against his shoulder. He lifted his hand hesitantly, waiting to ensure that she could breathe with how she’d wedged her nose between him and their pillows before relaxing to rest his hand against her hip. “Did you say something?” He waited for her to respond, at times privy to odd conversations she hosted during her sleep. When she didn’t respond, he relaxed again, tapping his fingers against her as she dozed. 

He wasn’t sure he’d been able to count more than five minutes when he was alerted to an unfamiliar presence in the keep by an odd-colored flash of light in the corner. Some magic cast by Wardens that had long since passed. Alistair sat up to scowl at the weird glow, groping for his pants and a shirt before finding his sword. Sina was skulking out the doorway when he managed to force his feet into boots, a flash of nudity and metal that would have been comical if not for the threat of an attack.

The fortress’ quiet was bothersome as Alistair tracked after Sina, frowning when he finally happened upon his wife talking to someone calmly. It took him a moment to understand the image, Sina wiggling her arm into a tunic she must have snatched on her way out of their room, the woman in mage’s robes nodding intently as she spoke. He narrowed his eyes as he shifted further into the great hall. “Sorry,” Alistair started hesitantly, now close enough to recognize the intruder. He knew her from Skyhold, the former Grand Enchanter. She could have had a different title now, though he wasn’t sure. Alistair had been too preoccupied trying to find Sina to care about the political aftermath of closing the Breach and restoring the falsehood of peace. The Inquisition had favored the mages, so she could have been involved in some official capacity, but it was more than his mind was willing to try and figure out at his hour. “Does the Inquisition need us? Wouldn't it have been easier for Leliana to send word by a raven?”

“I'm not here on behalf of the Inquisiton, I…” Alistair didn't miss the way the woman's brown eyes rested on Sina. The look seemed to be something more than curiosity. It was a pause for permission, or confirmation. Something discussed long before the brief conversation he had interrupted. “I wanted to see my son.”

“Are you Duncan's mother?” Alistair breathed, panicked. It made no sense, but the prospect of the boy's mother confronting him suddenly made him queasy. “I-”

“Duncan?” She wouldn't have known who he was talking about - that wasn’t the name given to the boy when he was born, if he'd been given one - but the sudden flash of emotion across her face made Alistair think she knew who he spoke of. “Wh-?”

“Not Duncan,” Sina murmured softly. Alistair turned to look at her, his brows furrowing at the stern look she gave the other woman. “Not our Duncan. This is your mother, Alistair.”

“What?”

“I asked the Inquisitor if I could send the Warden-Commander a note of my own… the way you spoke of her at Skyhold… “ Fiona shifted nervously. Alistair stared at her until his vision grew blurry from concentrating. He blinked slowly before glancing back at Sina. 

“What did she just say?”

“She's your mother, Alistair. She came to meet you.”

“No…” He started to argue, looking towards her again before quirking his head. It seemed outrageous that she of all people was his mother. Of all the women in Ferelden - an Orlesian elf was his mother? “Why didn't you introduce yourself when I was at Skyhold?”

“Poor judgement,” Fiona murmured. “Who… Who was Duncan?”

“Our son.” Alistair eyed Fiona curiously before folding his arms across his chest. “We found him, adopted him.”

“Ah,” she nodded slowly before glancing around, likely looking for signs of the child. Toys or general mess, though the place was void of both. “I couldn't keep you safe, were you to stay with me. It's nice to know that two Wardens could find a way to-”

“He's passed,” Alistair interrupted as he moved to sit. “Unrelated to the job.” He walked in a semicircle around Sina before remembering his intentions and making his way towards one of the chairs set by the window, an empty chessboard collecting dust on the table between them. He glanced towards Sina when she looked away and sighed apologetically. The pain still lingered, even if they had moved on. Had made the decision to actively try and make a family again. “Oh, Maker, you  _ invited  _ her here.”

“Don't be upset with her,” Fiona cut in. “I begged her help me meet you.”

“You, my mother.” Alistair could feel the severity of his expression, aware that he was likely scowling though he didn't mean to. He wasn’t sure if he was angry or annoyed or just disoriented from not being able to sleep in like he’d been firmly set on. “I have a mother, I… my father was king Maric.”

“Yes,” Fiona's lips quirked into a faint smile as Alistair informed her of the fact. “I'm aware.”

“Yes, of course you're… Of course you'd be aware,” he dismissed distractedly. “You had relations with him- They were  _ relations _ , yes? Not… He didn’t...” He knew the types of things men did to women, the types of things that happened to  _ elven _ women in particular. The thought of being the product of that made his face contort. “Because-”

“No,” Fiona said quickly. “No, you were right. I had…  _ relations. _ Proper relations.” She paused, closing her eyes before shaking her head. “Improper, by social graces, but-”

“Amazing,” Sina muttered. She shook her head dismissively when Alistair and Fiona both glanced towards her. Alistair scrubbed a hand against his jaw before making a face, wrinkling his nose and pursing his lips before he stood and ventured forward to inspect Fiona. He was several heads taller than her, hovering just on the boundary of her personal space so the difference in size didn't make him intimidating since he was sure his face had yet to fix into a neutral expression and he still couldn’t tell if he was skeptical or irate. 

“You took after him,” Fiona offered softly when she realized Alistair was searching for similarities. 

“Not the hair.” Alistair noted. “Not eyes, either, or the…” his fingers twitched at his side, almost eager to reach out. She wasn't quite his shade of brown. She was a bit darker than him, though Sina had teased Alistair once that he could rival her in the warmer months, if he spent enough time out of his armor. His eyes widened slowly when he caught sight of Fiona’s ears twitching every so slightly. 

Somehow, it hadn’t been the forefront of his mind, even though it was the greatest difference between them.

“Great Dane’s bitch, I’m an  _ elf _ .”

“Elf blooded,” Fiona and Sina supplied in unison. Alistair guffawed quietly, reaching up to pinch the tips of his own ears while Sina coughed to cover her laugher. 

“I’m sorry.” Her voice drew an identical arching of their brows as they both looked at her, Alistair only looking slightly more ridiculous as he continued to tug at his ears as though he could invoke pointed ends. “She knew about your birthmark, Alistair. I wouldn't have spoken to her if I thought she was making things up. There were other mages we could have asked.” She was right to say there were other mages. It was a bit of a sensitive thing, trying to seek out fertility treatments so they could try to have another child, but they had options. They could travel, at least for a bit, while the world was preoccupied by the remnants of the broken sky. 

Alistair knew Sina wouldn't have continued correspondence with Fiona if she thought the woman cruel, or if she thought it would hurt him in any way. After all this time, she knew what family meant to him. He'd gotten over his own lack of one, hadn't again tried to make sense of his lineage. But now the woman he'd always dreamed of was standing before him, a beautiful dark rebel elf so alarmingly similar to the woman he'd come to love. The only immediate difference between them being that his mother was a mage.

“Is  _ that _ why I always fancied inappropriate things?”

“Pardon?”

“Runes and things,” Alistair clarified, grinning despite himself at Fiona's bewildered expression. She didn’t likely find them appropriate, but every mother in the Chantry threw a fit when he asked about them and their significance in The Maker’s Plan. “I like runes and things. Because my… my  _ mother _ was a m- My  _ mother _ is a mage,” he said back to Sina, gesturing to Fiona with a nearly delirious laugh. “My mother's _ alive _ ,” he said more softly, his voice a small whisper as he questioned “did you think of me?”

“Only every day.” Fiona frowned sadly. “If things had been different… My Duncan promised to help me, to make sure you were safe. I hope…” Her gaze settled on the ground. “I hope your life hasn't been too hard. Being a Grey Warden… I wanted better for you. I wanted you to be happy.”

Looking at her, he couldn't help wondering whether or not she'd named him. If Alistair had been how she meant for the world to know him. He couldn’t help musing over whether or not this was how Duncan might have felt had he been able to grow old enough to wonder. Or if Alistair and Sina would have been enough to quell those curiosities, since Alistair hadn't had two parents to care for him. But still, he had more now than he'd ever thought to hope for. A purpose, a wife, a mother.

Alistair spread his arms, smiling finally when Fiona came to hug him, tighter than he thought should have been possible. And though she didn't smell like any home he knew or even sounded the way he imagined, she was somehow a perfect fit.

“I’d venture to say that I'm happy now.”


End file.
